


And Our Vow Remember

by Lingwiloke



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: At least I tried, Celegorm is a good big brother, Curufin has issues, Fluff, Ghost!Finrod, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lingwiloke/pseuds/Lingwiloke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod haunts Curufin and Celegorm after his death in Tol-in-Gaurhoth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Our Vow Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Silmarillion Kinkmeme Fill - Prompt: Finrod haunts Curufin and Celegorm after his death in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Pairing is optional, but the focus is horror/angst, possibly to the point of eventual madness by the time of the Second Kinslaying.
> 
> Written in a flash in the middle of the night, and unbeta'ed. I might come back to edit this later, but well, that's it for now.  
> Unfortunately, I'm not a native speaker - I apologize in advance for any odd wording or mangled grammar.

“Tyelko?”

“Mmm.”

“Tyelko, do you believe in ghosts?”

At hearing the worry in his little brother’s tiny voice, Tyelkormo blinked awake sleepily. He could barely see Curufinwë’s hunched form in Telperion’s waning light, so, crawling out from under warm covers with a feeling of regret, he padded over to sit on the edge of his brother’s bed. The moment he sat down, Curufinwë scuttled over and hugged him tightly, shifting until he almost sat on his lap. Tyelkormo absent-mindedly patted his back, still more asleep than awake. Oromë’s favourite bitch had been about to whelp, and his father had only let Tyelkormo stay to see it under the condition that he would be back in time for his youngest brother’s _Essecarme_ today. Which meant that he had ridden home in the middle of the night and only arrived in the early hours of the morning, only to be dragged out of bed two hours later to prepare for the feast. He was _tired._

“Who told you things about ghosts, Curvo?”

He felt Curufinwë shrug under his hand. “Turukáno says when people die, like grandmother Míriel did, sometimes their _fea_ don’t go to Namo right away. He said sometimes, when they didn’t want to die, they’ll come get you so they’re not so lonely.” The last words came out muffled because Curvo had hidden his face in Tyelkormo’s shirt.

Tyelkormo rubbed his face tiredly. He really was not up to this right now. “Grandmother Míriel wanted to go to Namo because she was so tired. And she’s got to be there ‘cause the Valar spoke to her before Grandfather married Grandmother Indis. So she can’t come here and be a ghost.” ,he said finally. “And there aren’t any other dead people here who could be ghosts.”

Curvo looked unconvinced. “But what about the people who die on the other side of the sea? There are monsters there and bad things that eat people. It’s in your book!” He looked up at Tyelkormo with huge eyes.

“Weeell…” Tyelko thought for a moment, inwardly cursing himself for letting Curufinwë read his history books. He’d thought Curvo would get bored after the first few pages, just like he had, but apparently he had underestimated his little brother’s insatiable curiosity. “But none of those know about you, right? Even father was born here in Aman, so if there are any ghosts, they won’t even know of us, so they wouldn’t ever come for any of us.”

Curvo’s little face scrunched up in thought, and Tyelkormo breathed out a sigh of relief when he finally nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“So, let’s forget about those ghosts and just go back to sleep, alright?”

“…can I come sleep in your bed?”

Tyelko sighed. “Sure, brother. Just don’t hog all the blankets.”

***

“Tyelko?”

“Yes?”

“I think Turukáno was right about ghosts.”

“What?” Tyelkormo props himself up on his elbows and looks over at his brother, who (once again) isn’t sleeping, but sitting upright on his bedroll, legs crossed, sharpening his dagger. The faint scratching noise grates on Tyelkormo‘s nerves, but he has given up on telling Curufinwë to stop, because he won’t listen anyway.

“Don’t you remember? We talked about it on the night of the Ambarussa’s _Essecarme_.” Curufinwë’s voice is matter-of-fact, and Tyelkormo needs a moment before old childhood memories resurface and he realises what his brother is referring to.

His confusion must have shown on his face, because Curufinwë starts to elaborate without waiting for an answer. “I have seen him, you know. Findaráto.”

That makes Tyelkormo sit up fully, feeling like a block of ice has been dropped into his gut. “Findaráto is dead.”

Curufinwë nods, not looking up from his work. “Exactly.”

“Come on, Curvo, don’t tell me you of all people…”

Curufinwë continues as if he has not heard him. “He was standing at the edge of the forest yesterday evening, just standing there, looking at me.” He raises his head, staring into space. “Maybe he couldn’t speak. His throat was a mess, all torn up and bloody. Do you think a _fea_ needs a throat to speak?”

Curufinwë’s voice is still even, almost conversational, as if he was discussing a new project in the forge and not their dead (murdered, his mind whispers) cousin. It sends a shiver down Tyelkormo’s spine.

“I don’t think they do. But then, we never needed many words, before.”

“Curvo…”

“They say he killed that last wolf with his teeth, did you know that?”

Tyelkormo wants to reach over and hug his brother, and tell him that all will be well, but Curufinwë is no child anymore and neither is he, and he does not know what to say.

“You are over-tired, brother. Go to sleep.” ,he says finally. He tries to sound soothing, but the words come out sounding more like he is being strangled.

To his surprise, Curufinwë smiles nevertheless - a strange smile that for once is as unreadable to Tyelkormo as it is for everyone else - and complies. After a moment of hesitation, Tyelkormo draws the cover over the lamp and lies down in the darkness. He lies awake for a long time after that, and when he finally falls asleep, he imagines he can hear wolves howling in the distance.

***

The morning before the attack on Doriath, Curufinwë wakes with blood on his lips. There are red handprints on his nightshirt, too, and purple bruises blooming on his arms and neck. He patiently holds still while Tyelkormo frantically checks him over for injuries (and finds none), but when he begs his brother to tell him what happened, all he says is:

“He will come for us today, brother. It was a goodbye.”

***

“I’m sorry, Curvo.” Findaráto’s face is slightly blurred in Curufinwë’s hazy vision, but he looks like he is. The hand at his wrist that dragged his arm to the side so that Dior’s sword could slip past his defenses is cold like ice. “But I swore an oath, too, you know.”

The world tilts and spins and Curufinwë feels himself fall, and Findaráto is falling with him. But in falling, he sees Tyelkormo raise his sword with a grimace of rage, and a split second before his head hits the ground with a crack, red blooms on Dior’s breast and he staggers backwards, mouth opened in a wordless cry.

And before the darkness swallows him whole, Curufinwë smiles a bloody smile and whispers:

“And you failed too, cousin.”


End file.
